


100% Cotton

by RubyIntyale



Category: Call Me By Your Name (2017) RPF
Genre: M/M, Making Out, Masturbation, Tickling, fantasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-10
Updated: 2018-06-10
Packaged: 2019-05-20 14:37:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,727
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14896421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RubyIntyale/pseuds/RubyIntyale
Summary: Timmy's cute when he's embarrassed.





	100% Cotton

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this for thereusedtobeadarkness on tumblr because they wanted a fic with Armie in his bathrobe and I couldn't find one.  
> Inspired by the behind the scenes photos where Armie is in The Robe and Timmy seems to be wearing his shirt for no apparent reason.  
> This is just silly, made up fluff. I am not 'delusional' and I mean no disrespect.

The piano room was empty, no Luca or Timmy in sight. “I wasn't in the bathroom _that_ long,” Armie groused to himself as he set off to find them, bare feet welcoming the cool wooden floors of the villa after the scorching hot flagstones outside. He didn't have to search for long before he heard Luca's voice.

“I am getting tired of this now, Tim. You are talented and you are capable, but perhaps a little maturity might suit you better.”

 _What?_ Armie walked straight through the door, letting it bang against the wall behind him to announce his entrance. They both looked up, startled by his sudden arrival. Luca's expression was stern, hands on his hips. Timmy's pretty cheeks were flushed dark pink, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. He stared at his feet, avoiding eye contact. Armie felt like the air had been sucked out of his lungs. Timmy always seemed so comfortable with himself that Armie had never seen him embarrassed, even when he was being a total dork. Chagrin suited him. Interesting.

Luca placed his hand on Timmy's shoulder, saying something Armie couldn't hear before walking away, eyebrows raised at Armie as he left them alone together. Timmy rubbed his face, blinking rapidly.

“Hey, hey, come here.” Armie soothed. His arms wrapped around narrow shoulders, hugging Timmy close to his chest.

Timmy hugged him back. “I never get yelled at,” he mumbled into Armie's shirt.

“I know,” Armie stroked his hair. “I know. You're so good.” _Shit. Why did you say THAT?_

Timmy pulled back, his expression somewhere between amused and offended. “Dude. I'm not a dog.”

Armie laughed nervously. “No, I didn't mean.”

Timmy was smirking.

“Shut up,” Armie let him go, “what was that about, anyway?”

“Truth or dare,” Timmy sighed, flopping cross-legged into an old armchair, his knee bouncing up and down.

“What?”

“I was playing with Esther last night. Playing _truth or dare_ with!” He added at Armie's knowing look, “And she dared me to do some stuff today that's pissed Luca off.”

Armie laughed but quickly tried to cover it, coughing before making his voice more serious. “Well, he has a point, Tim. You're not twelve, and it took a lot for him to even get this made.”

“Ugh,” Timmy dropped his head back, hand over his eyes. “I feel bad enough, OK? Don't dig the knife in.”

“I'm sorry. I'm sorry,” Armie held his palms up in surrender. “Come on. He'll be waiting for us.” He offered his hand to Timmy, pulling him off the couch. Timmy kept hold of it long after he was standing.

“So what did you do, anyway?” Armie asked. His throat felt a little dry.

Timmy squeezed his fingers once before letting go. “Oh no,” he shook his head, smiling. “I'm not telling.”

Armie was half hard for the rest of the afternoon.

 

He lay on his bed that night in boxers and nothing else, trying and failing to be comfortable in the humidity. His ceiling fan circulated warm air around the room with an electrical groan, occasionally ruffling the pages of the novel propped up on his chest. He read the same sentence five times before he realised he'd completely zoned out. He closed the book with a sigh, placing it face down on his bedside table.

It just would not leave his mind. Timmy's _face._ Fuck. Armie was a sick bastard, well and truly. He imagined all the other scenarios where Timmy would get all flushed and vulnerable like that until his cock was full and hard against his hip, held down by the tight material of his underwear. He lifted himself out, but didn't take them off, the bite of the waistband under his balls adding a little extra something to the proceedings. He held himself at the base with one hand and circled his fingertips over the head. Just a tease, really. Getting himself nice and worked up.

He imagined Timmy laying naked across his lap, arching his back and whining as Armie spanked him until his ass was as pink as his face. He would circle Timmy's hole gently with his finger and Timmy would come all over his thighs, wet and messy. _Such a good boy._

Armie fucked his fist, his hips lifting off the bed as he imagined slicking up his cock with Timmy's come and watching Timmy ride him. He came with a grunt, panting and sweating, thick ropes reaching up to his chest.

 

Things got weird after that. Armie didn't know if he was projecting, but Timmy seemed to be touching him more. He'd find excuses to pat Armie's shoulder or brush up against him somehow. He started sitting far too close at dinner parties and on Luca's sofa. He was a bizarre mixture of innocent and very, very aware, to the point that Armie became convinced he could read his mind. It was deeply unsettling, given that Armie was getting off to increasingly dirty fantasies night after night. He tried to step back, rebuild their boundaries, but Timmy was having none of it. He had managed to fidget and wriggle his way under Armie's skin, and he was there to stay.

 

It came to a head the last night of filming. They'd had dinner, there had been wine, and now they were back in the hotel, waiting for the sun to set so that they could film the last kiss. Timmy followed Armie into his room like he belonged there. Armie shrugged out of his Oliver shirt in the bathroom, hanging it neatly on the back of the door.

“Can I make coffee?”

“Sure,” Armie fastened his hotel robe as he walked back into the room.

Timmy giggled when he saw him. “Hi Hugh Hefner,” he busied himself with the tiny kettle.

“Brat,” Armie smacked his ass as he walked past, and Timmy whimpered. Actually fucking whimpered. Not a yelp, or a hiss, or any of the usual reactions to pain. No, he made this orgasmic little noise that made Armie's dick swell and his brain switch off.

“Tim?”

They were face to face. Timmy held his coffee cup in front of him like a shield. Their eyes held each other.

Armie licked his lips. “Tim, do you?”

Timmy leaned in for a kiss, but he stumbled over nothing, sloshing coffee all over himself.

“Shit!” He quickly pulled Elio's polo shirt over his head and ran to the bathroom. Armie followed.

“That's why I wore the robe.”

“Very helpful. How do I get it out?” Timmy alternated scrubbing the stain with hotel soap and rinsing it under the tap. His hands were shaking. “He's gonna kill me. Actually kill me dead.”

“You've got most of it. Besides, he likes a moody atmosphere. No one will notice in the dark.”

“You think?”

“Probably. Hang it on the towel rack. It'll dry quicker.”

“Thanks. Um, can I borrow a shirt?”

He looked so small and shy that Armie had to look after him. “Hang on.”

He found a pink shirt in his suitcase and threw it in Timmy's direction. It absolutely hung off him.

“You really are fucking huge,” Timmy laughed as he rolled the sleeves up.

Armie's phone rang before he could think of a retort. “Hello? Oh, right now? Um, yeah. OK. Five minutes? See you there.”

Timmy grimaced as he disconnected the call. “He wants to shoot now, doesn't he?”

“Yep.”

“Fuck's sake. Do you think it'll be dry?”

“Honestly? No.”

“Shit.”

“Hey,” the idea came so suddenly that Armie couldn't resist. “Dare you to wear my shirt.”

Timmy's eyes went wide. “No way. You know how he called me out last time.”

 _I do,_ Armie thought. _You've never looked more fuckable._

“It's the last night of filming. He won't care.”

Timmy thought for a moment. “Only if you wear the robe.” He crossed his arms, face smug, clearly thinking he'd won.

“OK,” Armie headed for the door. Timmy scrambled after him. Armie smiled, kissed him on the cheek and mussed up his hair. “It doesn't bother ME if people think we're fucking.”

“Wait, what?! That's not what I...”

“Come on, Timmy Tim. Time is money.” Armie snapped his fingers in the air as he sauntered off down the corridor.

 

They arrived on set to wolf whistles and cheers from the crew. Armie took it all in stride, bowing to some and even posing for photographs. Timmy realised he'd left most of Armie's shirt unbuttoned and frantically tried to fasten it.

“Who had six weeks?” Someone shouted.

Even Luca laughed at that one. “Alright, alright. Calm down. Where are your clothes?”

“There was a spillage,” Armie said in a stage whisper.

Timmy cast his eyes to the heavens, too embarrassed to defend himself.

 

It was one a.m before they made it back to the room, exhausted and giddy, euphoric and sad. Armie flattened Timmy against the door and kissed him. Timmy smiled against Armie's lips as he kissed back.

“Would've done this before if you weren't so clumsy,” Armie moved onto his neck, sucking, biting a little and then swiping the mark with his tongue.

Timmy moaned in agreement, trying to get as close to Armie as possible. Armie hadn't been this happy in forever. He felt drunk, playful. He kissed Timmy on the mouth again, stroking up his sides and then tickling under his ribs.

Timmy let out a very manly screech. “Agh! Don't!”

“Are you ticklish?” This was fabulous information. “You let me manhandle your feet no problem.”

“My _feet_ aren't ticklish,” Timmy tried to dodge but Armie got him again. He giggled and squirmed. Armie continued his assault until Timmy pitched forward suddenly, panting. He stilled, holding Armie's hands in place on his stomach.

“Oh, fuck,” he said quietly.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No.” He'd turned that beautiful pink colour again.

The front of his shorts felt sticky and damp against Armie's leg. He hid his face in Armie's shoulder.

“Six weeks. Six fucking weeks and it ends like this.”

Armie pulled away, tilted Timmy's chin up so he had to look at him. “Who said it's ending?”

Timmy's smile was tentative. “Really?”

Armie huffed out a laugh. “Well, for starters, since some of us need a little more than _tickling_ to get off, you're not going anywhere.”

 

He made Timmy blush several times that night.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> [lion-from-the-north on tumblr](http://lion-from-the-north.tumblr.com/)


End file.
